Okay so like, I’m probably way too old to be posting on one of these things, but I just… I don’t know. Needed to get it out. I’m a grad student, right? Which, honestly, sounds cooler than it is sometimes. And today… today was one of those days. I got this critique back, from my advisor, and it just… it felt like a punch to the gut. Like, really, truly awful. I thought I was doing okay, you know? Like, I've been doing this for a while, I’m not some fresh-faced twenty-something, I *should* know better. But I went into the bathroom, the one on the third floor that’s usually pretty empty, and I swear, I just kinda… folded myself into one of the bigger stalls. The one for wheelchairs? So I could fit without like, my knees hitting the door. And I just sat there. On the floor. And I cried. Not like, sobbing out loud, but just… quiet, wet tears. Like the kind where your throat feels tight and you gotta keep biting your lip so no one hears you sniffling. I kept thinking, what if someone comes in? What if they HEAR me? What if they see my shoes under the door? It’s just so… unprofessional. And I know, I know it’s just a paper, it’s just one person’s opinion, whatever. But it felt like he was saying I’m not smart enough, you know? Like I’ve wasted all this time, and money, trying to get this degree. And then I started thinking about my parents, who are getting older and my dad keeps asking when I’m gonna be *done* already, and my kids, who are like, grown adults with their own lives but I still feel like I gotta set a good example. Like, *Mom’s still out here doing stuff!* But what if I’m just… not? I probably sat there for a good ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Just wiping my face with paper towels from the dispenser. Trying to get my eyes to stop looking all red and puffy. Then I splashed some cold water on my face, tried to pretend like I had just, I don’t know, had a really intense bowel movement or something. Anything but crying. Because you can’t cry, can you? Not when you’re forty-something and supposedly have it all together. People would just think you’re weak. Or like, can’t handle the pressure. And then what? That’s it, right? Everyone just writes you off. I’m back at my desk now. Pretending to work. My eyes probably still look like I’ve been staring at a screen for way too long. I just… I wish I didn't care so much, you know? Like, why do I still get so upset over this stuff? It’s ridiculous. It's just a job. Kind of. But it means something. And now I just feel… deflated. And kinda dumb for crying in a public bathroom stall like some teenager. Ugh. Is it even worth it, all this? Sometimes I just don’t know.